


nothing in their hands

by ahtohallan_calling



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Frozen 2 (2019)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:15:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21746611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahtohallan_calling/pseuds/ahtohallan_calling
Summary: When it first happened, Elsa didn't understand what it meant to learn she was the fifth spirit. Now she knows it means watching the world move on around her while she stays frozen in time.(aka the angstiest possible take on the end of Frozen 2)
Relationships: Background Kristoff/Anna, Elsa/Honeymaren (Disney)
Comments: 67
Kudos: 294





	nothing in their hands

**Author's Note:**

> This is super angsty, but I couldn't get it out of my head.
> 
> Title is from Madeline Miller's brilliant novel Circe:
> 
> “I thought once that gods are the opposite of death, but I see now they are more dead than anything, for they are unchanging, and can hold nothing in their hands.”

She starts to wonder one morning when Honeymaren is braiding her hair for her, humming to herself as her nimble fingers work their way through the silky white strands.

“You’re lucky, Elsa,” the woman whispers, pressing a kiss just below her ear that sends goosebumps racing across her shoulders. “I don’t think your hair has grown at all since you came here. I get so annoyed having to keep mine trimmed."

“I’m sure you’re imagining it,” she replies, though something deep within her suddenly tenses, pulled tight as a bowstring.

Later, when she’s alone, she stands over a pond and gazes at her reflection. Her hair, as always, falls just below her ribcage, just as it has for the past year without having been touched.

* * *

“You’ll be here when it happens, right?”

A pang of guilt strikes her; her little sister has always looked up to her, depended on her, but recently she’s been neglecting her familial duties.  _ The forest needs me _ , she writes on scraps of paper that are quickly swirled away, or  _ it’s just a busy time _ or  _ I think maybe next week I can _ . 

In truth, she finds it hard to walk upright under the weight of all the stares that come her way each time she visits the city. The people still know her, still revere her, but the fear in their eyes is always palpable, and it cuts at her as it did the first time her powers were revealed.

She rests her hand on her sister’s rounded belly. “Of course, Anna. I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else.”

When her nephew arrives all in a rush of sweat and tears, she cradles him, long after his parents have fallen into an exhausted sleep. He looks up at her, blue eyes wide.

“What do you see, my darling?” she whispers, but all he does is watch, keeping a silent vigil in her arms.

* * *

“What happened when you were in Ahtohallan?”

“I saw the memories floating, the ones made of ice, and I followed.”

“How far?”

“To the bottom.”

Pabbie sucks in a breath. “And then…”

“I froze.”

“And you came back only when the dam fell.”

She nods.

He takes her hand in his, gently. “I don’t think all of you came back.”

It’s hard to breathe, suddenly, but does she even need to any more?

“What would have happened if I hadn’t gone to the bottom?”

“We cannot know. All we can do is move forward.”

She wishes she could. 

* * *

She lies beside Honeymaren at night, admiring the way her eyelashes brush against the curve of her cheekbone, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest, wondering what her lover dreams of. 

She doesn’t need to sleep any more; she realized that a few months ago. Food, too, serves no purpose, but she eats all the same, not wanting to draw even more attention to herself.

She still hasn’t told her the truth. Perhaps it’s better if she slips away in the night, goes too deep into the forest to be followed. In the end, it would be easier for them both.

Honeymaren stirs in her sleep, rolling over and mumbling something. She leans forward, and hears the mumbled word again: “ _ Elsa. _ ”

Perhaps tomorrow night, then.

* * *

The second time around, things don’t go as smoothly. She paces in the hallway, clenching and unclenching her fists as frost paints the walls, wishing she were the spirit of something useful.  _ What good is ice _ , she thinks, furious with herself,  _ when your sister lays dying in the next room? _

Anna pulls through; so do the twins, but they will be her last. Elsa holds her as she mourns the loss of a future that had been so dearly longed for, shoulders shaking with sobs. 

She wishes for the first time that it was Anna who had been granted this unending, unchanging life; for her it would have been a blessing, not a curse. Anna would know what to do with oceans of time, would use it all to the last drop.

Kristoff comes in just after Anna has fallen asleep, aching to hold his wife himself. Elsa leaves them alone, pressing a kiss to her sister’s temple as she goes. She knows she will not return.

* * *

There are creases at the corners of Honeymaren’s eyes, and Elsa finds them enchanting, taking every opportunity to kiss them, despite repeated protests. 

Others in the tribe tell her they envy her, that they want to know her secret for staying so young and beautiful. She laughs off their comments, telling them it’s just all the fresh air of the mountain.

  
She realizes one night that Honeymaren has never asked such a thing. As they sit together on a fallen log, Elsa entwines their hands. “How long have you known?”

“Since you came back. You were-- different. I felt it in my heart, even then. Nobody comes back from Ahtohallan, not until you.”

* * *

She’s patrolling the woods one evening when she hears a gasp. Spinning on her heel, she turns to see a figure wrapped in a deep purple cloak, hair twined up in a bun. There are gray strands at her temples.

“Is it really you?”

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

Anna doesn’t care. She lurches forward, eyes already filling with tears, and Elsa catches her in a tight embrace. “I-- I don’t understand this,  _ any  _ of it,” the younger woman whispers, voice trembling. “But I’m still your sister. You could have told me.”

“I didn’t want to burden you.”

“You have  _ never _ been a burden.”

* * *

She never does return to the city, but Anna begins making the trek into the mountains each month, more if she’s able. Sometimes she brings the children in tow, and they scramble around the forest whooping with such joy that even Elsa can’t help but laugh.

Kristoff always accompanies her, and Elsa is glad to know that she left her sister in such gentle hands. There is an understanding between them, one born of being granted power that was entirely unexpected and not always wanted. But unlike her, he is making use of it; he is a good king, well-loved by his family and his people.

Elsa wishes she could say the same for herself. She spends her days making icicles. What good has that ever done anybody?

* * *

Honeymaren is the first to leave her. Elsa has been able to feel the end hovering on the horizon like a fog slowly rolling in. It’s peaceful, easy; one minute she is breathing deeply in her sleep, the next, she isn’t.

She kisses her cooling brow and weeps for the first time in years.

* * *

She gets the letter too late and doesn’t make it to Arendelle on time to say goodbye.

She’s learned to travel like the wind, though, and hides herself amongst the crowds to watch the procession, led by her nephew, standing tall as he guides the black-draped caskets to their final resting place.

She almost envies them, the way their hearts had been so closely intertwined even death couldn’t break them apart. She had loved Honeymaren the same, but it hadn’t mattered.

“Say hello to her for me,” she breathes, just before she slips away.

* * *

She stops living with the tribe; it pains her too much to look around and realize that no face is familiar.

She keeps watch from a distance over them, the families of the ones she loved so dearly, and over her nieces and nephew, who now have children of their own. She is half of a bridge, standing without support and still refusing to crumble into the dark waters below.

* * *

The little snowman is the last to leave her. 

“I think I’m ready to go,” he says, gently, knowing it will break her heart.

She holds his hand as he fades away, wishing someone could do the same for her.

* * *

She spends her unending days in Ahtohallan now, watching as the world moves on. Unable to face it herself, she calls up storm after storm, desperate for the stories the sculptures will tell her. She loses herself in them, a sea of memories that are no longer her own, and she wishes she could drown in it.

She does not know how long she stays in the caverns, watching the world go by in shards of ice and hungering to move on with it. She returns always to the same pair, the two little girls playing in the snow.

“Do the magic!” she hears, echoing in the back of her mind like a constant refrain, a reminder of all she has lost to this power she never wanted.

“Take it back!” she calls one day, the words wrenched from her in a sob. “I don’t want it any more!”

No one answers. 

* * *

Time rolls on. She calls up her sculptures, day in and day out, the stories they show her now so complicated she can no longer follow.

But one gives her pause; she presses her fingertips against the rounded, icy cheek, and wonders if maybe, just maybe--

She has lost count of the years she has lingered in the ice. She had forgotten the feeling of the sun on her face, the breeze on her hair, all the wonderful cacophony of the world around her.

She makes her way to the edge of the forest, lingering in shadow, a habit that is hard to break even though she learned years ago to make herself invisible as the other four spirits do. A group of children is approaching, led by a man wearing clothing of a style she doesn’t recognize.

“And some say the guardians of this forest are still alive, and they still protect the city to this day!” he whispers, and the children gasp in excitement.

“Are they really magic?” a tiny voice lisps, and Elsa turns towards the speaker.

She sees her sister in the girl’s face, though her eyes are brown, and somehow-- she knows. 

A bigger boy guffaws and elbows the girl. “Don’t be stupid, Ellie. Magic isn’t--”

He’s silenced by a sudden swirl of snow that flurries through the trees, flapping his scarf up to cover his mouth. Ellie giggles.

She watches the children the rest of the day, making sure to clear the path ahead of them and their teacher as they hike through the woods. And when the sun begins to dip below the horizon and they turn to go, the little girl turns around, eyes wide with the kind of wonder she had thought no longer existed.

“Goodbye,” Ellie whispers.

“Goodbye,” Elsa responds, sending her words floating along the breeze. The girl smiles and turns back towards the city.

Elsa hasn’t felt this warm in years. 


End file.
